He didn’t have ingredients to make cheeseburgers or French fries, though. Or a pizza or a curry or sushi or anything else that remotely resembled Earth food for that matter. Later he could order the foods he needed—he had found the form on an e-clip and he could send out an order electronically for anything he needed for the kitchen. But he wanted to make the girl something now.
He was just about to despair when he found some of the tough-skinned purple yams from Ry’gle that were renowned for their sweetness. He frowned, weighing them in his hand. Now what could he make? Nothing that resembled Earth food, unfortunately, but something good and nourishing and tasty, at least. Something that smelled and tasted appetizing and didn’t have anything to do with Trollox cuisine at all.
He skinned and diced the yams and set them to boiling in salted water. When they were soft, he mashed them into a paste and added eggs and xylom honey. Luckily, there was yeast in the cabinet and some kind of nut flour as well. Dark mixed them all together until a bright purple dough formed. He let it rise, punched it down, and let it rise again. Then he formed it into a loaf and brushed the top with sweet handa butter which he found way in the back of the cold storage unit.
By the time six o’clock—the time specified by Gorn for dinner—rolled around, the entire kitchen was filled with the heavenly scent of baking bread. Of course, there were also the nauseating smells of the Trollox food to contend with, but Dark kept the lid on the pot of stew he was making as much as possible so he didn’t have to deal with it much.
He wished for the ventilating hoods he’d had in his old kitchen back at his restaurant on Rigelus Prime. They had been strong enough to suck away foul odors, ensuring that none of his regular humanoid customers ever caught even a whiff of the dishes they made for the Trollox patrons.
Without the ventilation, all he could do was keep the pot lid on and open a window, allowing some of the artificial breeze which circulated the air under the atmosphere dome, to waft through the kitchen.
At six exactly Gorn was sitting at his place at the head of the massive dining table. And sitting at the foot was the mysterious girl with the bruised face. Dark wondered, as he served the Trollox a huge tureen of stew, how she’d gotten that bruise. He would have bet anything it came from one of his new master’s massive fists.
The thought made his fangs sharpen in anger again and he tried to push it away. He would do his best to save her—in the meantime, all he could do was feed her.
He served her a plate with several slices of the sweet purple yam bread along with a small dish of butter and a tiny bowl of honey with a spoon. Her big blue eyes widened when she saw what he was serving her and she looked up at Dark questioningly.
Since Gorn wasn’t looking at them, Dark permitted himself to smile at her—just one upraised corner of his mouth to let her know everything was all right.
“For you, Mistress,” he said in a low voice. “I hope you will eat with a good appetite.”
“I…I will. Thank you.” She picked up a slice of the fresh-baked yam bread and nibbled it experimentally. Her eyes got even wider. “Oh—this is delicious! It tastes like a cross between a honey bun and pumpkin bread.”
“I do not know those foods,” Dark said truthfully—he had barely scratched the surface on Earth cuisine on his visit to the Mother Ship. “But I hope you will enjoy it.”
“It’s wonderful.” She took another bite and then stopped for a moment to spread the rest of the slice with butter and drizzle it with honey. She was just raising it to her lips for a third bite when the gravelly voice of Gorn’s left head stopped her.
“What the fuck is that shit?” he demanded, glowering at the purple yam bread the girl held in her hand. “You, pretty boy—what are you servin’ my breeder?”
“Forgive me, Master, but I thought that as she is a humanoid, I should make her humanoid food, just as I make Trollox cuisine for you,” Dark said blandly.
“Well, you thought fuckin’ wrong, pretty boy!” Gorn looked angry—dangerously close to enraged, in fact. “To bear a Trollox heir, she’s gotta eat Trollox food. Take that slop away and serve her from my dish!”
He nodded at the tureen which he had already been slobbering in as he drank the stew straight from the bowl.
“Of course, Master,” Dark said at once. “Forgive me. But there is no need to take from you—there is still some stew left in the pot.”
Though he hated to do it, he whisked away the fresh yam bread and brought out a small bowl of the Trollox stew to the girl. He saw her wince at the smell and didn’t blame her. As he bent low to place the plate before her he murmured,
“Don’t worry—come into the kitchen after Last Meal if you can and I’ll give you the bread.”
He saw her eyes go wide again but she only picked up the spoon he’d given her and pretended to take a bite of the foul-smelling stew. Dark wondered if she would be able to come to him—if so, he could feed her the rest of the loaf. And maybe he could get her to start trusting him so he could eventually take her with him when he left.
* * * * *
Anna wasn’t sure what to think. She had never had a Replicant speak to her in such a way before. Not that she often tried to make conversation with them. Mostly Gorn bought the alien-looking kind with multiple arms to cook and clean and the obvious sex-doll kind to fuck.
She’d tried to make friends with one of the sex dolls once, out of sheer loneliness. The doll didn’t say much but she had apparently been programmed to be a good listener and Anna had found herself telling her everything that had happened—how she had been tricked and taken and sold… Through it all, the sex doll had nodded sympathetically, her eyes fixed on Anna’s face.
It was almost as good as talking to a real person—or so it seemed to Anna who had no one in that awful house. She had gone back several times to talk to the sex bot, whom she had dubbed “Rosie” because of her red hair and flushed cheeks. But then, the third time she’d gone to see her new “friend,” Gorn had been there.
Anna still remembered standing in the doorway, frozen in horror as she watched the huge Trollox literally fuck the doll to pieces.
He’d been taking her from behind, shoving his massive, warty shaft into an opening which seemed much too small to accommodate such huge girth. The doll wasn’t complaining though—she was making a series of high-pitched coos and moans, apparently meant to simulate sexual enjoyment. She’d been on her knees with Gorn holding her arms, pulling them back towards him.
“Fuck! So fucking tight!” Gorn had growled, shoving his hips forward and plowing into the sex bot with all his strength.
Suddenly, one of her arms tore right off.
Still the doll didn’t complain even though her bright pink blood squirted everywhere. Gorn hadn’t stopped his pumping either. He’d simply grabbed her long red hair, which was gathered in the back into a ponytail, instead.
“You broke another one!” the right head—the one Anna had dubbed “Hisser” in her mind—complained.
“Shut it,” grunted the left head—or “Growler” as Anna thought of it. “We can always buy more. Shut it and fuck!”
As he spoke, he gave another especially rough thrust and yanked on the sex bot’s hair. This time it was her head that popped off, as easily as the heads of Anna’s Barbies used to pop off when she was a girl, she’d thought, feeling sick and shaky. Still, she couldn’t stop watching—what was happening in Gorn’s “fuck room” was too horrible to drag her eyes away.
As her captor continued plowing the headless, leaking sex bot which trembled spasmodically beneath his bulk like a dying bug, all she could think was,
That could be me. That’s going to be me if I don’t get away.
But how? He’d brought her through a worm hole to get here and she didn’t even know where “here” was. She didn’t know how to fly a spaceship either—her stepfather Brex had promised to teach her but it was pretty complicated and he’d only gone over the basics before she’d been taken. So th
ere was no way she could hijack one of Gorn’s ships and steal out in the dead of night.
No—she was stuck living here, thanks to her own stupidity in trusting Lazlo and not listening to her mom and stepdad. And she was desperately afraid that she was going to die here too.
Well, maybe before she died she could at least get some more of that purple bread. It was the best thing she’d tasted in a long, long time since all the food that was served to Gorn smelled and looked disgusting and tasted, if possible, even worse.
Should she trust the dark-haired Replicant though? Anna pretended to take another bite of the foul-smelling stew and weighed her options. She’d trusted a man before and had been betrayed and used and hurt in ways she didn’t want to remember. A strange male she didn’t know had invited her to come into the kitchen alone with him—she ought to run a mile in the other direction.
But surely it will be safe since he’s a Replicant, whispered a little voice in her head. He can’t hurt you like Lazlo did—he doesn’t even have any equipment down below.
She thought of the smooth, hairless expanse of tan skin between the Replicant’s thighs and felt slightly reassured. Yes, it should be possible to take him up on his offer to get more of the delicious purple bread in the kitchen. Just to be safe, though, she was going to stay near the door and make sure she had a way of escape if she needed one.
She had learned her distrust of males the hard way and she didn’t intend to repeat the lessons—not even with a seemingly safe male like the dark-haired Replicant.
Chapter Six
Dark waited anxiously in the kitchen, wondering of the girl would take him up on his offer or not. Shortly after finishing his dinner as messily as possible, Gorn had announced that he was going out drinking with his “drewgs” which Dark had assumed was a Trollox word for “friends”—if they could be said to have friends. Mostly they just tried to outdo each other with tales of sexual conquest and trophy acquisition if the conversations he’d overheard from the Trollox patrons of his old restaurant were anything to go by.
The cleaning Replicant came and went, scrubbing the pots and pans and leaving everything sparkling for the next day. Dark had just given up and settled down to look at the e-clip and make the order for tomorrow’s delivery when he heard the metal swinging door to the kitchen squeak every so slightly.
Looking up eagerly, he saw the girl standing there, just inside the door. She had the look of a frightened animal about her and he sensed that if he did or said the wrong thing she would bolt at once.
“Hello?” Her voice was high and uncertain. “I came because you said…said you had more of the purple bread? Is now a bad time?”
She was already backing away and Dark knew he had to say something quickly or he would lose her.
“Of course I have more of the bread, Mistress,” he said, rising smoothly from his place at the small table and going to the cold unit. “I made it especially for you.”
“You did? Um…that doesn’t seem like…I mean, why would you do that?” She had taken a step into the kitchen but her hand was still on the metal swinging door, ready to bolt at any time. “I mean, why would a Replicant care enough to make me something special? You are a Replicant, aren’t you?” she went on in a rush, her eyes wide and uncertain. “I mean, of course you are,” she answered her own question. “I remember you showed me when Gorn made you. Showed me you didn’t have a…a…” She gestured to his crotch and her face went scarlet. “I’m sorry, what I’m trying to say is I know you’re a Replicant—I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Oh. And why not?” Dark tried to keep his voice neutral. He’d been hoping to tell her the truth about himself but she seemed so spooked he was afraid to say much of anything.
“Because men—males—are awful,” she said candidly. “I kind of learned that the hard way—no matter how nice they seem, you can’t trust them. No offense to you,” she added quickly. “I know you’re made to look like a guy, I’m just really, really glad you aren’t one.”
Dark wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“Did our master betray your trust?” he asked at last, trying to draw her into conversation—to find out a little of what was happening to her.
“Gorn? No.” She looked down at her hands. “No, he told me exactly what he expected of me when he bought me,” she said in a low voice. “He says he’ll let me go when it’s all done but I don’t know if…if I’ll survive it. But I don’t want to talk about that,” she added quickly, looking up again. “Did you say you had more of that bread? It really does taste amazing.”
“I’m glad you like it, Mistress. If you’ll wait a moment I can heat it up for you—it tastes much better hot,” Dark told her. And it would also give him an excuse to keep her in the kitchen a while longer.
“Well…it would be nice if the butter would melt.” She edged a little bit further into the kitchen. “I was so disappointed I didn’t get to taste it when it was all hot and covered in honey.”
“I’ll be happy to get it ready for you.”
Dark put the whole loaf pan into the convection warmer and set it for rapid warm. Then he busied himself getting the butter and honey and a plate and knife ready for her. He set these on the small table he’d been working at before she came in, as though assuming she would stay and talk to him while she ate—he hoped she would, anyway.
The warmer dinged and he removed the loaf pan. The bread smelled, if possible, even better than it had earlier when it had been fresh baked—rich and yeasty and warm. Dark wouldn’t have minded having a slice himself but he wasn’t sure he could get away with it since his Replicant status still seemed to be somewhat doubtful with the girl. Besides, he mainly wanted to see her eat it—like many chefs he had a need to nourish people and the girl looked desperately in need of nourishment.
“Come.” He brought the loaf pan to the small table and cut a slice to put on the plate. “Eat.”
“Um…” She nibbled her lower lip and he could sense her fear even though she wasn’t touching him. Fear and pain—so much pain. With anyone else, the warning from his gift—or curse—would have made him wary. With the girl, it only drew him more. He wanted desperately to know her. Maybe it was the dream he’d had of her but he felt strongly he needed to get closer to her—to help her however he could.
“Please, Mistress,” he said smoothly, trying to sound like a Replicant. “I swear I would never hurt you. I am here to serve and protect—that is all.”
“All right.” Slowly she made her way to the small table and sat, her voluminous black robes billowing around her. She walked as though it hurt her to do so and sat the same way—cautiously as though she might do herself an injury by sitting down too fast.
Dark supposed she was just still wary of him so he continued to try and look non-threatening. He picked up the e-clip and continued the ordering for the next day though he could sense the girl watching him from under her lowered lashes. At last she began buttering the slice of bread he had cut for her and then drizzled on a little honey.
She took a bite and her eyes rolled up in her head.
“Mmm…”
The little moan of delight warmed Dark’s heart. He loved to see people enjoying his food and she was certainly enjoying it all right.
In the past five years, he had almost forgotten the pleasure of watching others eat what he had prepared and delight in it. Mistress Hellenix had never praised his cooking though she had often criticized—sometimes verbally and sometimes with a pain whip. It was good to remember that he could still please and nourish people with the things he cooked and baked.
“Is it to your liking, Mistress?” he murmured, looking up at her.
“To my liking? It’s pretty much the best thing I ever put in my mouth.” She gave him a tentative smile. “Thank you for making it for me.”
“It was my pleasure,” Dark said honestly. “I thought it might be more enjoyable to your palate than Trollox food.”
“You thought righ
t about that.” She shivered. “I’m sorry, because I know you made that stew at dinner, but it smelled awful. Not nearly as nice as this.” She took another bite of the bread.
“Trollox have different tastes than we—I mean than other humanoids do,” Dark corrected himself quickly, hoping she hadn’t caught his slip. “Mistress,” he added.
“That’s pretty obvious.” She took another bite and licked some honey from her fingertips. “And you don’t have to call me ‘Mistress.’ I’m nobody, really.”
“What’s your name?” Dark couldn’t stop himself from asking. He felt strongly that he wanted to know her—to know everything about her.
“Anna.” She looked up at him. “What’s yours? Or…do you have one? Do Replicants have names?”
“Dark. My name is Dark,” he said, holding out a hand in greeting.
She stared at him for a moment, then carefully laid her hand in his. Dark felt a tingle that went all the way up his arm and thought again of the flash he’d had of her in the compelling dream that had brought him here in the first place.
If he hadn’t had Dark Healer as part of his heritage, he might almost have thought it was some kind of Dream Sharing but he had never heard of a Dark Healer—even a half Kindred one—being able to have dreams of his future mate. It must just be that he felt for the girl because he had so recently been a slave with no hope of a future himself.
He held her slim, pale hand, so much smaller than his own for a moment and then let it go long before he wanted to—he was still trying not to scare her.
The girl—Anna—seemed to have felt something too. She looked down at her hand as though trying to understand it.
“Dark seems like a strange name for a Replicant,” she said at last. “And…you’re not like any other Replicant I ever saw.”
“I’m…a new model.” He didn’t like to keep lying about being a Replicant but it was pretty obvious that was the only reason Anna was still sitting here with him instead of hiding herself away from him someplace in the huge mansion.
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